Can You Keep A Secret?
by skittlesthelizard
Summary: Bra/17 ((Selfharm, murder, organized crime, teen pregnancy, suicidal thoughts/actions, and general unpleasantness. You've been warned.)) Bra lost her father and brother at a young age at the hands of the woman she trusted most. Her mother. Now 10 years later, Bulma is dead and secrets are being unwound. Bra is learning things she never wanted to know.


_I'm gonna say this because a lot of people will ignore this description and I don't want people to be trigged. . It's gonna be dark. Self harm, gore, depressing crap. The works. And I guess you could classify this as pedophilla of you found out 17's age...I dunno. But, if this stuff offends you, please turn back. I DON'T WANT TO TRIGGER ANYONE!_

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The heart and mind of a child are very fragile. Once torn, they can never be put back together.

A Ms. Bra Briefs is no different.

At the tender age of six, the very foundation of her innocence was torn to shreds. She watched her father die. Him coughing up what little blood that was left in his body, shaking, praying to any God out there spare even the smallest piece of mercy on him.

This was no Vegeta, Prince of All Sayians, this was a washed up shell of him. When he finally died after a solid two weeks of suffering, his dead brown eyes were staring right at her. She stood at the doorway, helpless as two paramedics lifted her dead father off the bed.

Bulma's face showed no concern or sorrow, she mearly followed the medics outside and rubbed Bra's hair as she went.

Little Bra curled into a ball, just at the foot of her father's death bed and sobbed for what seemed like an eternity.

Her father was gone.

Bulma, dare I say it, seemed to be enjoying her life as a widow. Going to parties, bringing strangers home to spend the night, and buying new dresses with Vegeta's life insurance. Bra would have starved to death if Bulma hadn't made the considerate decision to hire a nanny.

The girl had made several attempts to end her life, ranging from burning her own eyes out to trying to jump off the balcony overlooking her room. Again, Bra would've been dead without her nanny. A portly, grey haired woman, named Sala.

Currently, they were seated at the kitchen table putting together a jigsaw puzzle.

Blue eyes squinted at the puzzle before her, and the piece in her pale, pudgy hand.

A puzzle, full of what could be ducks, or yellow flowers, or squash.

Bra hoped it wasn't squash. Kami knows she hated squash. Once, Sala made squash. She'd boiled it, and made Bra eat it as a punishment for running around with scissors.

A long forgotten episode of Mutant Teenage Reptiles Who Can Fly hummed in the distance as the princess made her decision.

"Come on! It's the next to last piece!" Sala criticized from across the table. Yes, it was the next to last piece, but it was still really hard!

At what angle should it be put in? What if she put it in the wrong way? This was how the thought process of Bra Briefs went. What if she did something wrong?

Sala's teeth grit together in anger, annoyance was written all over her face. It was understandable, they'd been putting together what was supposed to be a 15 minute puzzle together in 2 hours.

The door opened revealing the form of Bra's mother, accompanied by a young man that looked half her age. Sala's annoyed face turned at one of disgust.

Bra jumped up happily to greet her mother. Tiny arms wrapped around Bulma's waist. She, seemingly reluctant, grinned at her six year old.

"Bra, Mommy has some business to take care of in the conference room with Mr. Junanagou, can you stay with Sala for a few more minutes?" She said, her voice laced with false reassurance.

Funny, when it came to people like Bulma, lies slide off the tongue easily. Maybe because she was used to spilling them. She pried herself from the child's grip and walked down the hall into the room her youngest was forbidden to enter. The conference room.

Junanagou looked down at the kid. She didn't look anything like Vegeta. It looked like someone had cloned Bulma. Her eyes shone with genuine interest and innocence.

This is why he hated children.

Their eyes had yet to see what the world really was.

He followed Bulma down the hall. The door was closed and locked.

Bra wondered what was going on in there. What were they saying? Why didn't Mommy want her to go in there?

Sala, out of annoyance, finished the puzzle. She gave the child a bath and wrapped her in cocoon made out of Hello Kitty blankets. Curt goodnights were said, and the elderly woman exited the room.

Bra was getting bored. She couldn't sleep. And boredom is a dangerous thing, especially with young children. She snuck out, and walked down the hall.

Her feet hit the ground like concrete slabs. She was afraid her Mommy would hear the noise, open the door, and she'd get in trouble and promptly sent back to bed. She leaned against the door. The voices were some what muffled, but due to her father's genes, she could still hear.

"Poison?" A man's voice, "They all thought he was sick? Like with tuberculosis?"

"Yes," Her mother's voice was warn and tired, "You're the only person who can't get traced back to me."

"I'm flattered, Bulma, now why am I here And how much am I getting paid?"

"Trunks found out..."

A laugh. It was scary, like it was never meant to be heard.

"I'm here for him aren't I?" The male voice said. A silence followed.

Bra heart thumped in her ears. Why were they talking about her big brother?

"He's an adult now, and I can't have him going to the police about it. No one suspects I've done anything.."

"So you'd kill you're own son, to save your own skin?" He chuckled, "I must admit I didn't think you of all people could be this cold."

They were gonna kill him.

They were gonna kill Trunks. Bra's eyes widened. She couldn't unhear it.

Would they kill her too? She felt sick. Like she'd swallowed the secret and it wanted to crush her stomach into a million pieces. She ran to the bathroom down the hall.

Beside the room where Vegeta died.

Her mother. Her mother was the cause of all of her depression. She wasn't there to pull the matchbox out of her hands, or pull her off the balcony when she threatened to jump. Never soothed her during her nightly nightmares, or calmed her when she cried.

She could've cared less. Bra could be dead..and Bulma wouldn't have shed a single tear.

All of Bra's vomit was caught in the sink. She couldn't make it to the toilet. It tasted like metal and squash. It was soupy and brown. She ran the faucet and watched the vomit go down the drain. She felt sweaty and her hands were sticky and her ears buzzed with her mother's words. 'Trunks found out..'

Trunks moved out after her father's death. There was no way to warn him. Tears burned at the corners of Bra's eyes.

She'd lost a father, a mother, now she would have to watch helplessly as her brother was killed.

Bra was alone.

Truly alone.


End file.
